She called Lori, asked if she was free to go into Portland. “You promised me a shopping trip,” she said. “I’m in the market for a wedding gown.”
“Really? I thought you were going to make do with a white dress.”
“I probably am, but I really need a break today, and bridal-gown shopping sounds like fun. Are you up to it?”
“You bet, Chels.” She could hear the smile in Lori’s voice. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
They took Chelsea’s car to Portland, because Lori was starting to have trouble fitting behind the wheel of her Ford Taurus.
“And I’m only starting my eighth month!” she complained. “I’m going to look like a giant pumpkin before this thing is over!”
Chelsea laughed. “Are you sure it’s not twins?”
“The doctor keeps telling me there’s only one baby in there. He must be a monster!”
“Watch out world, here comes Junior LeBlanc!”
The shopping trip proved to be a wonderful tonic to Chelsea’s spirits. They started at the Maine Mall and then drove into Portland to cover the bridal shops there. Just before noon she spotted her dream dress in a little boutique in the Old Port district.
The gown was displayed on a wire-framed mannequin in the far back corner of the shop. It was a froth of satin and ivory lace, yards and yards of delicate fabric cascading from the pearl-beaded bodice. Long lace gloves and an illusion veil on a circlet of white silk roses completed the outfit. Chelsea stood in front of it, her eyes shining.
“I wonder how much it costs,” she mused.
“Don’t even ask,” Lori advised. “You’re going to take it. It’s perfect.”
“I can’t take it if I can’t pay for it.” She turned to the clerk, who was smiling at her eagerly.
“You have excellent taste, miss. This is an original Paulette creation, hand-beaded, lined with silk—”
“How much?”
“Only one thousand, five hundred dollars.”
Chelsea’s eyes widened in shock. “Fifteen hundred dollars! For one dress?”
“It’s a bridal gown, miss. Made for the most important day in your life.”
Chelsea gazed at the gown and imagined herself wearing it, walking down the lawn behind Stuart’s cabin. She pictured the sea breeze lifting the veil and teasing her hair, imagined how the satin would make soft, whispering sounds as she moved. She wanted it desperately, but she couldn’t afford fifteen hundred dollars for a dress she would wear only once in her life. She shook her head. “I can’t—”
“Try it on,” Lori urged. “Don’t say no before you try it on.”
Half an hour later Chelsea was standing in front of a triptych of mirrors, her skin glowing, her smile radiant. “It’s perfect!” she whispered. “It’s the gown I’ve always dreamed of!” She felt ravishing and fragile and utterly feminine inside the cascading lace. She closed her eyes and imagined holding a bouquet of fresh wildflowers, walking across a lush green lawn toward her groom. Through the veil, she could see the soft blur of faces, hear the cry of sea gulls overhead, hear the wedding march being played exquisitely on an electronic keyboard. She approached the minister, where the groom waited to lift her veil. The music stopped, her veil rose, and she looked up into Jeff’s handsome face—
Her eyes snapped open. “I can’t take it,” she said quickly. “It’s not right.”
“But you just said it was perfect!” Lori protested. “You have to buy it!”
“No.” Chelsea shook her head firmly. “I’ve changed my mind. It’s not the right dress for my wedding.” And she hurried into the dressing room to take it off before anyone could see the tears shining in her eyes.
Chapter Sixteen
I cant believe you left that gorgeous dress in the shop and bought that plain little knee-length thing at Sears!” Lori wailed as Chelsea swung the car onto the southbound ramp of the interstate. “So what if the wedding’s going to be small? It’s your wedding.”
Chelsea tightened her hands on the wheel. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Suit yourself. But I put the dream dress on layaway for you, just in case you change your mind.”
“You what?”
“While you were changing into your clothes, I put a small deposit on it. My treat. Look, Paul and I will be happy to help pay for it—”
“No! Absolutely not! End of discussion.” Chelsea eased into the acceleration lane, watching for traffic.
“Don’t get in a snit about it. I’m not going to force it down your throat or anything.”
“I’m sorry, sis. I guess I’m just tense. Look, I have an idea. Why don’t we take a day off and go out to Eagle Island? We could both use a change of scene.”
“What about Muriel Winter’s Independence Day party?”
“Are you kidding? After what happened last night, I’m sure that’s cancelled.”
Lori sighed. “I guess you’re right.”
“I’ll get Stuart to take us out to the island tomorrow morning. We’ll pack a lunch and make a day of it. How does that sound?”
Lori shrugged.
“You like it out there as much as I do. Come on, we deserve a vacation day. Look at it this way: it may be the last time you get to go out there without lugging a baby.”
Lori laughed. “I already am lugging a baby. But you’ve got a point. Okay, you’re on.”
There were two calls on her answering machine when Chelsea let herself into the apartment. The first was from Holly, saying she was thrilled that Chelsea was getting married, and that she’d be delighted to be her maid of honor. The second was Beth Harmon, calling for Muriel Winter.
“Mrs. Winter wishes to make it clear she will not be needing your services in the future.” The machine clicked off.
Although she’d expected it, Chelsea’s heart sank. Their one big chance to grow into an elite catering business was gone. And it was all her fault. She hadn’t been able to contain her contempt for Muriel Winter, and she was reaping the bitter harvest.
She called Lori and told her the bad news. After a short silence her sister rallied. “All the more reason we should go out to the island tomorrow, like you suggested. It’ll clear our minds, give us something to do besides sit around and mope. Have you called Stuart?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure he’ll say yes.”
But Stuart surprised her by his reluctance. “Tomorrow’s Sunday,” he reminded her. “You know I don’t haul on Sundays.”
“So spend the day on the island with us. Come on, Stuart. Lori and I really need to get out on the water.” She explained what had happened to Strawberry Lace.
Stuart sighed. “I wish I could help you out, Chels, but I promised my father I’d spend the afternoon with him.” His voice thickened suddenly. “He’s back in the hospital. He had a bad reaction to the chemotherapy.”
“Oh, Stuart! I’m sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have suggested—”
“No, it’s okay. I could probably take you out there in the morning and then pick you up before dark. Maybe it would take my mind off Dad for a couple of hours.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to add to your burdens.”
“You could never do that, Chels.”
“I feel so bad about your father,” Chelsea said. “I was hoping for some good news for a change.”
“The good news is our wedding, Chels. It’s the one thing he’s really looking forward to. And so am I.”
“Me too,” she said.
The wind was gusting hard under a gray sky when Chelsea’s Choice headed out of Bryant’s Cove early the next morning. Chelsea was glad that she and Lori had thought to wear sweaters over their blouses. Even in mid-June, mornings on the coast of Maine could be downright chilly. Stuart kept looking doubtfully at the sky. As they rounded a ledge and moved into the open water of Casco Bay, he pointed to a band of dark clouds lying on the horizon, far out to sea.
“Looks like it’s thinking about blowing up a real storm. I
’m not sure I like the idea of leaving you two alone on the island.”
“We’ll be fine,” Chelsea insisted. “Besides, what can happen on the island? We’ll be safer there than on the Chelsea.”
Stuart grunted skeptically.
“Look, if it rains, we’ll just wait at the house. It’s got a nice, deep porch; we won’t get wet.”
He scowled, but she wrapped her arms around him from behind and stood on tiptoe to kiss the back of his neck, and a few minutes later he was laughing.
The island was deserted when they arrived. Stuart helped them stow their food and a couple of extra blankets in the dingy. As they kissed good-bye, she reflected on how safe and secure she felt in his arms. It was a good feeling, better in a lot of ways than the unsettling passion she experienced in Jeff’s embrace. It was certainly far more soothing. They were both smiling as he helped Lori into the dingy, then handed Chelsea the oars. She rowed quickly in to the little beach, where she and Lori climbed out, hauled the boat high up on the sand, and secured it to a rock. She waved to Stuart as he swung Chelsea’s Choice around, and then she and Lori carried their things up to the house.
They were surprised and pleased to find that the building was open. “The park ranger must have forgotten to lock it up yesterday,” Lori said as they entered the dark-paneled living room.
The large building had been built as a summer home for Robert Peary, the Arctic explorer credited with discovering the North Pole. It was here, on this small, green island, that he planned his expeditions. The house had been preserved in its original decor, and always struck Chelsea as a forbidding place, with its dark walls and menacing stuffed animal heads. There was a summer-camp feel about it: informal and breezy, with long, glassed-in porches and creaking wooden floors. Upstairs, a chain of small bedrooms was tucked under the eaves.
They placed their food and blankets in a corner of the living room and explored the house lingeringly, though they’d visited it many times before. When they came back outside, Chelsea noticed that the band of dark clouds on the horizon had widened. The wind was blowing up whitecaps on the water, and every few minutes an unusually high swell would hit the rocks east of the house with a crash, sending spray frothing into the air.
“Looks like we’d better take a walk around the island while we still can,” Chelsea said. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“Of course it was a good idea. Look at it this way: the clouds will keep the tourists away. We’ll have the island all to ourselves.”
It gratified Chelsea to see Lori in such high spirits. It made her feel more optimistic herself. Maybe it was all part of Lori’s big-sister consolation plan, but it was working. Within minutes they were laughing happily as they hiked the wooded path that circled the little island.
They stopped to gather a few wild strawberries, which Chelsea spotted near a narrow rock outcropping. “I know we’re not supposed to do this, but if we don’t taste a couple, I’ll never forgive myself. I adore wild strawberries.” She grinned at Lori. “Think we could come up with a recipe for wild strawberry blini?”
“Why not?”
“Maybe you can make some for my wedding.”
“Give me a break, Chels! Where am I going to find enough wild strawberries to serve a crowd?”
“Maybe just two, then—one for the bride and groom and one for everybody else.”
They continued along the path, laughing and chatting. It felt good to be away from all their responsibilities, to savor the sights and sounds and smells of the sea and the exquisite beauty of the small green island. When they had circled the island twice, Lori suggested they return to the house; she wanted to get off her feet for a while. As they came out of the woods and climbed the lawn behind the house, Chelsea spotted the white mast of a sailboat moored in the little cove.
“Damn! Somebody else is here.” She pointed the boat out to Lori.
“The place is big enough for both of us, I think,” Lori said brightly. “It’s not as if it’s crawling with people the way it sometimes is.”
Chelsea shrugged and accompanied her sister up to the porch, where they sat on a narrow wooden bench and gazed out to sea. The sky had darkened considerably since their arrival, and patches of fog obscured the nearby islands. But to Chelsea the view was stunning. She’d never understood some people’s conviction that the ocean was only beautiful on bright summer days. That was when all the pictures were taken, of course; it was the ocean that people painted. But she’d always relished the stark beauty of an approaching storm. The water had a gray-green cast, with swirling blue shadows just under the surface. Gulls swooped and cried, their gray and white bodies mirroring the choppy sea. The surf boomed against the cliff. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly.
“This is wonderful,” she said. “I already feel better.”
“I wish I could say the same.” Lori was hunched forward, her face drawn into a pinched expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I’m not feeling very well all of a sudden.”
“Do you want to lie down?”
Lori shook her head. “Actually, I felt better when we were walking. Maybe we should walk some more.”
“Whatever feels right.” Chelsea followed her sister across the porch to the steps. “Let’s go down on the beach.”
Lori appeared to be having a hard time negotiating the stairs. She stopped halfway down and clutched her swollen belly.
“What is it?” Chelsea was instantly beside her. “Are you in pain?”
“Sort of.” Lori’s eyes were round with anxiety. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think I just had a contraction.”
“A contraction?” Chelsea’s own stomach clenched in alarm. “You mean you think you’re in labor?”
“I can’t be. I’m only eight months along.” Lori grunted and descended the rest of the steps quickly. “I feel better now. It was probably just indigestion.”
They walked down onto the beach. Chelsea tossed some stones into the water, while Lori gathered periwinkle shells. The clouds had thickened and darkened ominously, and the wind was stronger. The sailboat rocked wildly on its mooring. Out of the corner of her eye Chelsea caught a flash of lightning to the east. She turned to see a curtain of rain running toward them over the water.
“We’d better head back to the house or we’re going to get soaked.” She looked back at Lori, who was standing, frozen, her hands clutched together over her stomach, her eyes fixed on a point in the air a few feet in front of her.
“Lori?” She ran over to her, but Lori didn’t acknowledge her, didn’t shift her eyes or move a muscle. She just stood there, paralyzed, staring at nothing.
“Lori! Talk to me!” Chelsea put her hand on her sister’s shoulder, which seemed to break the spell. Lori looked at her. Her face was pale and there was fear in her eyes.
“I think maybe it is labor,” she said in a choked voice.
A low roll of thunder sounded, and Chelsea felt the first raindrop hit her arm. She put her arm around her sister. “Come on, we have to get you inside.”
The sky was so dark now, it was like walking at dusk. Chelsea kept her eyes on the path and guided Lori along, stopping whenever her sister’s sharp intake of breath signaled the arrival of another contraction.
The rain started in earnest, showering them with hard, fat drops; the wind whipped their hair and clothes angrily. They reached the porch just as it began to pour; relentless sheets of cold water sliced savagely through the dark air.
Chelsea helped Lori up the narrow stairs to a tiny bedroom and persuaded her to lie down. Lori was curled on her side, breathing through a long contraction, when Chelsea heard someone enter the building. She had a wild hope that it was Stuart, and started eagerly down the stairs to greet him. But as she turned the corner of the landing, she heard the sound of a woman’s voice. She froze, her hand clutching the stair railing. Of course, she told herself; it couldn’t be Stuart. He was probably already in Port
land, and it was unlikely that the storm had reached the mainland. Even if he were still on the water, he was an expert navigator who didn’t take chances. The prospect of a thunderstorm would have sent him to the closest harbor to ride out the storm. She bent and peered into the shadowy room below.
Two figures—a man and a woman—were bending over something near the door.
“Hello?” she said.
The figures straightened and turned and then one of them flicked on a flashlight. Chelsea gasped. The man was Jeff Blaine and the woman was his mother.
“Chelsea?” Jeff’s voice was puzzled. “What are you doing here?”
“Jeff!” She ran down the rest of the stairs. “Thank God, it’s you! How did you get here?”
“We made the mistake of taking a morning sail.” He came toward her quickly. Behind him, Muriel stood with her hand braced against the door, glaring. “I was surprised to find the building open. I didn’t expect anyone would be here. Don’t tell me you rowed all the way out here in that little skiff.”
She shook her head. “Stuart dropped us off.”
“Us?”
“My sister’s upstairs. She’s . . . I think she’s in labor.” Chelsea grabbed his arm. “You’re a doctor. You can help her. Please. She’s in a lot of pain.” She started tugging him toward the stairs, but Muriel’s sharp voice stopped them.
“Jefferson, would you kindly give me your arm?”
Jeff turned briefly. “Chelsea can help you find a place to sit. There’s a woman in labor upstairs.” He placed his hand over Chelsea’s and bent to speak in her ear. “She’s having trouble walking today. Just support her left side and guide her to one of the chairs.” He gave her hand a little squeeze, then ran past her up the stairs.
Chelsea reluctantly offered her arm to Muriel. The woman’s hand was cold and clawlike; she clutched Chelsea’s arm with an intensity that brought tears to her eyes. Chelsea had an impulse to yank her arm away, but remembered the concern in Jeff’s request and forced herself to lead the woman to a wide-backed wicker chair near the row of windows. She had to swallow her antipathy as Muriel swayed against her with each step. When she was finally seated, Chelsea asked if there was anything else she could do.
Strawberry Lace Page 16
